divided
by allyse volapropis
Summary: In the wake of Lord Voldemort's return, Niamh Cassidy has come to London to begin a new life. When she meets Fred and George Weasley, their blossoming friendship helps her to begin feeling at home in a foreign landscape. But what else will this friendsh
1. divided prologue

Prologue.

"Minster of Magic, Cornelius Fudge has just finished giving a press conference, in which he announced that the Ministry of Magic will be sending an envoy to Azkaban Prison to open negotiations with the Dementors. Recently, their usually water tight guard of the prison has been failing, which has lead to the escape of many high security prisoners including Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix LeStrange, both cohorts of the recently returned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Ministry hopes to be able to reach an agreement with the Dementors, which will bring them back into the fold of the Ministry, and allow the Ministry to retain control over the prison," announced the radio in the far corner of the small, crowded shop.

Occasionally, from the checkout counter, Fred would catch a glimpse of a ginger head weaving its way between shelves of his brightly packaged wares. He'd been watching the girl attached to the ginger hair for quite some time as she drifted in and out of his line of vision, hopefully enjoying his products. Secretly, he was hoping she'd approach him with a question about something, just so he'd have an excuse to talk to her. Fred was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate excuse on his own. Especially since George was somewhere in the shop already, making sure all the customers were finding things easily enough.

"Did you see that girl?" George appeared across the counter suddenly, almost as if he'd apparated.

"The Ginger haired one?" Fred asked, knowing full well who George was talking about. The only other patrons included a mother and her young son, and a few small groups of teenaged boys.

"No. The middle aged one with the ankle-biter," he deadpanned.

"Shut-up." Fred narrowed his eyes at his twin.

"So you saw her."

"Yeah. I saw her." He tried to play it cool.

"She's brilliant. I'm going to chat her up. Keep an eye out, eh?" Without another word, or a glance back, George headed off in the direction of the ginger haired girl.

Fred mentally cursed himself for not abandoning the counter much earlier to try and talk to the girl. It wasn't as if the shop was hopping anyway. He could've left the checkout alone for a few seconds. It was a Tuesday afternoon, not a peak time for the magical joke shop business and there were only a few stay-at-home mums and some random miscreant teens hanging around. But it was too late for that, George was already off, laying on the charm. Fred had learned years ago, that after one twin attempts to get himself stuck in, well, the other twin should steer clear. It just gets ugly otherwise.

Niamh wandered between rows and rows of tightly packed shelves lined with brightly colored, descriptively named goods, all intended for mischievous purposes. It was perhaps, the most interesting wizard shop she'd ever entered and she was enjoying every moment of her exploration, each item making her laugh a little louder than the next. All she really knew of the shop, besides the fact that it came highly recommended by Mr. Fortescue, was that it was owned by a pair of young brothers named Fred and George Weasley, who developed and produced all the goods on their own. Only ten minutes into her exploration, Niamh had a steadily growing list in her head, entitled "Things To Buy." It was broken down into categories: must haves, stuff for me, stuff for Kian, things to come back for. Needless to say Niamh was quite fond of lists. She was in fact, quite sure her that world would crumble around her if she stopped making them.

_Speaking of a crumbling world_, she thought, as the radio newscast caught her attention. It had been all over the news, all day long. But then, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning from the almost dead, and seeking a return to his former power well…that was certainly a big deal, so she understood why she'd heard and seen nothing else in the news lately. Even as an American witch, Niamh understood the enormous impact of recent events, and felt trepidation at the thought of how much smaller the world had become since his last reign. It would be unlikely for Voldemort to remain on this side of the ocean if he came to power again, the world had constricted considerably, and he'd want as much power and control as he could have. She knew at least that much about him from her lessons as a child back home. And the news here only served to scare her a little more each day.

"Hey there," a voice arose from her left. She squealed and jumped a bit, feeling as though she could have jumped out of her skin. In reality, she only jumped a few inches in the air, up and to the right.

"Oh my god, you scared me!" she exclaimed, her hand over her pounding heart.

"Wow. I'm really sorry." The boy to her right, a redhead, looked frightened himself.

"No. Don't be." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm like, the jumpiest person on the planet."

"And with an accent like that, I'd say you were an American, too."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was almost certainly the first thing people said to her/asked her about: being an American. She couldn't get used to it, even after 2 months of living and working between London and Dublin, it still bothered her a bit to continuously hear it. She knew she'd have to get used to it though, because like the constant comments about the color of her hair and the mispronunciation of her name ('No, Ma'am, that's Neev, not Ni-am-h. It's Irish.'), being American was both something she couldn't change, and something people would always notice. That was especially true in the wizarding world, in which there hadn't seemed to be much inter-cultural interaction since the times of Lord Voldemort's last reign. Wizards here in London were always shocked to meet an American witch.

"Yes, I am. I grew up in New York."

"Wow. What are you doing all the way over here in London? Vacation?" He was smiling at her strangely, clearly over-interested in conversation.

"I'm working, actually."

"Working? Where?"

"I work for a muggle institution, a bank, JPMorgan Chase. They've transferred me to the Dublin office, but I do a lot of work in the London office as well."

"Never heard of them."

"Not shocking, most wizards haven't."

"So. Are you a witch, or what? I mean, how did you find Diagon Alley?"

Niamh knew she seemed odd to British witches and wizards who encountered her. She lived half her life as a Muggle, and half her life as a witch. Although it was common in America, where the very vast majority witches and wizards were of mixed parentage (not unlike most Americans in general), the British Magical world didn't have a cultural equivalent, and it shocked them to learn how so much of the magical community in America was "part-time." Today Niamh was dressed like a Muggle, wearing a cut off denim skirt, a tank top, and a pair of beat up old Dr. Martens, so from the outset people had a hard time reading her. But there was a wand in her bag, and she knew as much magic as any British witch or wizard did, and perhaps more.

"Oh, I'm definitely a witch. I'm of mixed parentage, Mom's a Muggle, Dad's a Wizard. I was raised like most muggle kids in America, only after regular school every day, I went to Wizarding school for a few hours."

"How does that work?" He looked genuinely interested, and he leaned closer as she began to speak again.

"It's really common in America, and not just in the magical community. Greek kids go to Greek school, Jewish kids go to Hebrew school. It keeps a culture alive, while allowing kids the chance to assimilate into American culture, giving us a shot at the 'American-Dream' if we want to take it."

"That's weird."

"It's not as weird as it sounds, I guarantee it. It's actually kind of nice. I can be as involved in the Magical community as I want, but I don't have to feel isolated from the world my Mother is a part of either." She noticed that the other people in the shop had drifted closer, and they were all listening to her speak. "Sometimes its hard, to choose between the two worlds, but I think it's a good thing, to have that choice. It makes me that much more proud to be a great witch, when I know its something I've chosen to devote my life to, instead of just something that's been dropped into my lap."

"Wow," the mother across the shelf exhaled. When Niamh looked up, she quickly looked away and began to busy herself elsewhere.

"Yeah. Crazy," the redheaded boy added.

"By the way, I'm Niamh." She extended a hand to him.

"George."

"Wow. So you own this place?"

"Yeah, with my brother, Fred." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to an identical redhead.

"Well, it's great. This has to be the best wizarding joke shop I've ever been to in my life." And she meant what she said. "My little brother would LOVE this place. I have to send stuff back to the States for him!"

"How old is he?"

"He's not that little, actually. He's nineteen; he'll be twenty in a few months. But he'll forever be my little brother."

"And how old are you?" George asked. She smiled at the tone of his voice. He was certainly trying to lead this conversation elsewhere.

"Twenty-two. How old are you?"

"We're eighteen," the twin, Fred, piped up from behind George. The tone in his voice seemed, amusingly enough, quite triumphant. She had to smile.

"Young'uns." Niamh shook her head. She didn't mean to be condescending, and she tried to show that with her intonation, but she couldn't resist saying it. "Although, you're wonderful businessmen, it seems, which is quite impressive for your age." She smiled directly at both brothers. "I talk about you like you're that much younger than I am. I mean, it's only a few years. I still remember 18. It just feels like it was forever ago!"

"Uhm. Yeah." George knew he'd been figuratively smacked down, and that his chances with Niamh were negligible. He also knew Fred was more than thrilled about what had just transpired. He could feel the jealousy, and then, the shit-eating, triumphant grin, radiating from behind him. "Well, uhm, we should get back to work. Just, let us know if you need any help or anything."

Niamh watched as George turned on his heel and headed back toward the register, shoving Fred along in front of him, and she bit back a bit of a chuckle. She hadn't meant to upset or embarrass either of them. But she did feel the need to make it clear that she wasn't interested in or attracted to them either. She could sense their attraction, mostly from the nearness of George, the way his eyes moved around her body, and the tone of his conversation. And she didn't want to lead anyone on. She knew how messy that could turn out, and that kind of mess was the last thing she wanted to have on her hands, barely 2 months after moving away from home, all alone. More than anything, she just needed friends. And so she hoped that she hadn't done any permanent damage just then. Because anyone who owned a shop like this, well they were worth knowing, in her book. Worth having as friends.


	2. divided installment one

Installment One.

Fred stared openly as Niamh used her thumb to strike the wheel on her 'lighter.' Suddenly a small orange flame leapt to life, which she brought to the 'cigarette' between her lips as she inhaled deeply. She called it a 'clove' in conversation ('Do you mind if I smoke a clove?')—it was thin and darkly colored and he could hear it crackle as she inhaled. He'd never witnessed something like this before. The only smokers he knew used pipes, like Mundungus. And the muggle contraption she used, the 'Zippo lighter,' was unlike anything he'd ever seen. When she dropped it on the table, concentrating her efforts on the clove between her lips, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands, examining it from every angle. It was rectangular, only about ¼ deep, and silver, but the front and back sides were printed all over with a leopard skin pattern. When he flipped up the top it stayed open and when he pressed down and pushed out (simultaneously) on the small, grooved metal wheel, a flame burst inside a small torch area where it remained lit until he blew it out.

"Couldn't you just do that with your wand?" he asked, putting the lighter down gingerly as she exhaled sweet smelling smoke in his direction.

"I guess. It's just that this is a muggle habit of mine—and a really bad one at that. So I'm kind of used to this. I can't exactly haul out my wand and conjure a flame in the middle of some Muggle filled pub, now can I?"

"Good point." He felt sort of bewildered as he watched her inhale and exhale slowly, deeply.

Fred understood nothing of her life. In all honesty, it had taken him a very long time to understand witches and wizards like Hermione—to see how someone could grow up in the muggle world and then choose to leave it behind completely, for a life of magic. How people could choose one world over another. Even at 18, he still wasn't sure he grasped the concept fully. And at first, it had seemed logical to him that someone like Niamh would choose to take part in both worlds. But the more time he spent around Niamh (two weeks and counting), the less he understood things. Sure, she didn't have to give up her life as a muggle, or her life as a wizard. But she would never fully be a part of either world. She'd always be somewhat torn between the two. He could only imagine how hard that would be, how it would be much harder than just choosing one or the other.

It seemed, at least so far, that Niamh had her life very carefully coordinated, and that she liked things that way (Fred remembered the numerous ranked lists he'd watched her sort through on her 'palm pilot organizer'). She lived in the muggle world easily, with her flat on Stephen's Green in Dublin and her cushy 'marketing' job, and her work friends and neighbors and the new boy she was dating. With her lighters and her cloves and her 'discman.' But she was lying to almost everyone in her life, constantly. In a way, she was living a lie. Working weeks in a muggle job, surrounded by muggle colleagues and friends, going to muggle restaurants and pubs, and watching 'television' and 'DVDs' with her muggle friends. And then, spending some evenings and weekends and all of her alone time, participating in the wizarding world. Practicing her spells and working on her potions and reading her histories. Visiting with her wizarding friends and playing quidditch every other Sunday. But those were things she could never tell the large majority of Muggles in her life, thing she would forever be hiding from them. Both because they would never understand, and because it was too dangerous. And so she divided her life into categories, fighting to devote fair amounts of time to both worlds, always feeling as if she should be somewhere else.

For instance, it was a Thursday evening, and she had gotten off work about 2 hours ago. She'd said goodbye to her muggle colleagues and left her muggle office, taking a taxi home and changing out of her 'suit,' before talking to Fred and George through the floo network and setting a time to meet them at The Leaky Cauldron. At exactly 8 pm, she apparated in the pub—wand and 'lighter' both in her bag—from the hotel where she lived while she was in London. Friday she would be working half a day from her suite, on something called a 'computer' using something else called the 'internet,' and so she decided she wanted to use that freedom to meet up with the twins for a few drinks. It all seemed so normal and average to her, she drifted between worlds so easily, bringing little bits of each into the other whenever it she could get away with it.

But even with all its glamour, and all the fun muggle toys and tools she brought with her into the magical world, Fred could tell Niamh was lonely. It was a difficult situation she faced every day, isolated from both worlds in the strangest of ways, and very far from home. Niamh needed friends. So Fred and George had determined they could be those friends. Something about her made them trust her, made them want to be around her. They liked that.

"A pint of Mead and two Butterbeers," George said, placing glasses down between Fred and Niamh, before crossing to the other side of the table to take his seat again.

"Thanks," Niamh said gratefully, resting her clove on an ashtray and taking a long sip of her Mead.

"My pleasure." George caught sight of the lighter, and picked it up. "What's this?"

"A lighter," Niamh said matter-of-factly.

"What's a 'lighter'?" he asked, sipping his Butterbeer idly.

"It's a muggle tool, used to strike up a small flame for lighting things like pipes and cigarettes."

"Ohhh," George said, trying to figure out how it worked. Niamh reached across the table and demonstrated, handing it back to George so he could try it for himself.

"You know, you're never going to get that back," Fred laughed as George 'oohed' at the small orange flame glowing from the lighter, before extinguishing it, and trying again.

"I better." She smiled broadly back at him. He began to wonder if this got tiring for her. How often she had to explain Muggle items to wizards back home, or if she had to explain things there at all. She certainly did in Britain and Ireland, where the wizard and muggle worlds were strictly divided.

"You know, you should meet our Dad," George said, putting the lighter back down.

"Yeah. He'd love to get to talk to you," Fred added. "He finds Muggles fascinating."

"Can't get enough of your little contraptions, like fellytones and plugs and such."

"You mean telephones?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "That. Harry and Hermione are always correcting us!"

"You know other wizards who live with Muggles?" Niamh's eyes lit up, Fred hated to disappoint her with the reality of the situation.

"Well. Harry and Hermione grew up with Muggles, and sometimes they spend the summers with their muggle families. But…it's not really the same, not like your life is. You're the only person I've ever met who lives like that."

"Yeah. You freak!" George twisted a stupid smile at her.

"I know. Right?" She played right along with him. Niamh was hard to ruffle. "But seriously. I'd love to meet your family. I don't really know that many purely wizard families. I mean, a few here or there, but none that I've spent any real time with. It'd be just as interesting for me as it would for your dad. … By the way, what does your father do?" she asked. "How does he collect all of his muggle artifacts? Does he know many Muggles?"

Niamh was fishing, Fred could tell. He felt badly for her, in a way. The wizarding community here was so different from her own, she was reaching for anything she could get her hands on, searching for something she could grab hold of. He wished he could do much more. Much more than sit with her in a pub and chat, like he was now, much more than just being frequent company, a warm body to bounce things off of. He wished he could involve himself in her life, and involve her in his. But his life wasn't that simple of late. He and George couldn't just bring her home. Hell, at the moment, she wouldn't even be able to see his house, never mind get inside it. They'd have to get Dumbledore to give her the address and that would be one hell of a feat. Even just finding Dumbledore to talk to him had become a feat lately. The house was always abuzz with activity, but rarely was Dumbledore a part of that buzz.

"He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, at the Ministry of Magic."

"Wow. That sounds really interesting—I bet he sees some really crazy shit!" She took a long drag of clove, her eyes smiling.

"A few months ago he had to sort out a series of regurgitating public toilets."

"Ugh! Ew!" She twisted her face into an expression of disgust. "People are nasty! Who does that?!"

"Yeah. That's one of the shittier messes he's ever cleaned up. Quite literally." He smiled.

"Mostly, it's just attack dust-bins and such. Pretty boring," George finished his thought for him.

"I think I'd much rather have attack dust-bins!"

"You're such a girl."

"Oh yeah. Cause you'd just love to be coated in excrement." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I would." George raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say 'try me.'

"Liar." She ended the conversation with a flash of her tongue and a sip of her pint.

"Do you guys have a Ministry of Magic, like we do? Is that where your father works?" Fred asked. Trying both to engage her in further conversation, and wanting to learn more about American wizardry.

"Well, we do have a government, and it's a lot like your Ministry, although its power base is completely different. I mean, for many of us, it only governs over a portion of our lives, while the muggle government controls most of our day-to-day lives. I mean, I don't live exclusively in the wizarding world, so clearly that's not the only government in my life, nor is it the most powerful government in my life. But, there are still families who live like you do here, whose entire lives are lived within the confines of the wizarding world," she offered, stopping to breathe. "Actually, there are lots of families like that, especially in the Northeast, North and West Coast—and in the major cities. So to them, the Magical Legislature is their only governing body, the most powerful force of social control in their lives." She paused and drank; the twins remained silent, trying to sort through what she had just explained. "It's definitely more common for people to live like my family does, sure, so the Magical Legislature doesn't have quite as much overall power as your Ministry of Magic does, and they do invest a lot more time in legislating the grey area between worlds than your Ministry does, so that makes them different as well.

"But we do have a very active world, filled with pure-bloods and mudbloods," both brothers cringed at the word, "and all the drama that goes along with that dichotomy. It's different, but it's the same. And obviously, we need to have a government to maintain order, even those of us who are only part-timers." She smiled broadly. You could tell being a 'part-timer' was something she'd grappled with before—perhaps she was still doing so. It was all so confusing, so muddy and indistinct. "I mean, can you imagine the chaos of lawless magic…" At first she was still smiling, almost laughing a bit, as she said it. But the sentence changed as she spoke it aloud, as if it were different once it left her head. It died halfway through, her words coming slower, the smile slipping off her face. The meaning had changed. Somewhere between the laughter and the sentence. Somewhere between the thought, and the realization that the next table over was having a hushed conversation about the best way to avoid the Cruciatus Curse. Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore.

It fascinated Fred to see the level of awareness of the world around her that Niamh possessed. He knew, between his eavesdropping habits and his growing involvement in the Order of the Phoenix, that so much of the international wizarding world was completely, and intentionally unawares. Worlds were closing off, folding in on themselves, all over the place, and the Order was struggling to engage those worlds—to encourage them to protect themselves through communication and knowledge, things much more powerful than the isolation of turning inward on themselves.

But Niamh was completely unlike that. Maybe it was because she'd been living in Dublin/London for a while. But Fred sincerely doubted that. There was something about her awareness that seemed too deep seeded—this was something that she was raised with.

"…I guess you can…" she spoke softly, before looking away and running a hand uncomfortably through her hair.

Although Niamh hadn't intended to dredge up ugly, dark things, she had. Neither Fred nor George particularly liked to stop and think about the situation. Because when they did, reality sunk in a little deeper: any one of the people they loved and cared about most in the world, could be lost to the dark side, at any given moment. It was a noble cause, trying to protect the world from the evil You-Know-Who wished to spread, but it was all too often a deadly one. And so they chose not to think about it, not really. It was all an adventure. A bit of a laugh. A way to put their expertise at invention to the test. It was many things, but it was not a war between dark and light that could end lives faster than they could be created. Because that was too much.

So for a while they sat there, quiet. Fred and George sucked into a whirlpool of their own making, the one they'd been barely out-swimming for weeks on end. And for a while, all they thought about was how serious everything in their lives had become. And how they wished there was more they could do. Like turn back time, or invent some outlandishly brilliant way to end the battle before it really began, or perhaps be uninvolved and completely clueless like so many witches and wizards around the world. But it was too late for that. And for a moment, they thought about all they had at stake. And it was a frightening chain of thought…one that was difficult to break.

"So." Fred began feeling uneasy, sitting there in silence, thinking far too much.

"Yeah." George seemed to agree.

"What?" Niamh asked, looking up from the pint she'd been swirling around on the table.

"Uhm." The twins were both unsure of what to say next, so instead, they looked at her quietly for a moment more. After a few seconds, they noticed she was staring at something.

"Wait," Fred started.

"What?" George finished his thought for him. Niamh was looking past them, through the empty space between them. They wondered what she was seeing.

"So this is what kept you boys from dinner." They heard a familiar voice rise from the direction Niamh was staring. "Your mum was expecting you lot, I hope you know." The voice moved, and suddenly its owner appeared in their vision as he approached Niamh. Mundungus. "And who is this lovely lady?" He reached for her hand, lifting it off the table and bringing it to his lips.

"Mundungus," George said dryly.

"Niamh, this is Mundungus Fletcher, a…well…a family friend. Mundungus, this is Niamh Cassidy, she's a new friend of ours," Fred offered, albeit reluctantly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Niamh." Mundungus bowed and kissed her hand again. She forced a laugh.

"Oh, no. The pleasure is all mine," she said, shooting the boys a look that clearly read 'what the hell?!'

"You know boys, I think it's a bit selfish of you to be keeping this loverly morsel from the rest of us." Mundungus was still holding onto her hand, although it was easy to tell Niamh was trying to find a casual escape.

"The rest of us?" She raised an eyebrow, suddenly distracted from the uncomfortable position of her hand.

"They haven't told you about the Order?"

"The who?"

"Mundungus!" the twins practically shouted, once again in unison.

"We are in a pub," Fred hissed.

"Of course we didn't talk about it, Dung, it's supposed to be a secret," George added. "That means you don't tell people."

"Or talk about it loudly in pubs," Fred threw in for good measure.

"So I guess that means I shouldn't ask what the hell you're talking about?"

"I didn't realize…" Mundungus looked at his hands.

"Look, Dung, we're not going to give out to you, but you need to watch out," Fred said. "Now. Who wants another round?" he asked, clearly dropping the conversation right where it was.

Fred wanted to choke Mundungus slowly. Both he and his brother thought Dung was a bit of a laugh, sure. And he was a good guy to know when you were in their line of business—he could find any ingredient or supply you could possibly need, no matter how scarce or slightly illegal it was. In all, the twins certainly liked Mundungus a lot more than, say, their mother did. But Fred knew how important the Order of the Phoenix was. And he knew how important its continued secrecy was—it was one of their most powerful weapons. As yet, You-Know-Who could not be sure of their existence, or pin down their possible location, and that gave them a bit of an upper-hand. In battle like this, you needed every bit of advantage you could get, no matter where it came from or how difficult it was to maintain. And it took a great deal of effort to maintain the Order's secrecy, their slight edge. Mundungus was going to ruin their cover if he kept up this kind of behavior. It was dangerous. And there was too much at stake, too many lives on the line, for anyone to take things lightly.

Niamh sat down on the couch in her living area, and kicked her Dr. Marten's off, one skittering across the wood floor until it hit the entertainment unit, the other coming to a soft thud on the area rug in front of her. She pulled her feet up and tucked them under her body, curling into the corner of the couch. The hotel suite was quiet, almost stiflingly so. It was the kind of silence even the soft buzz of conversation on the television couldn't cut through.

She longed to apparate back to her apartment in Dublin, just so she could sit around and talk with her roommate (and cousin) Shirley. But Niamh knew that was a bad idea. As close as Niamh and Shirley were, she was pretty new to the whole 'living with a witch' thing, and Niamh didn't like to wave it around in her face too much. She wanted to phase Shirley into it very slowly. Niamh thought that with time, she could help Shirley understand how very much the same the whole wizarding world was, in comparison to her own. Apparating in the middle of the apartment just then would certainly not fit into Niamh's plan for phasing Shirley in—she still didn't even know what apparating was. She still had a lot to learn.

Niamh longed for conversation. That was one of the things she'd missed most lately. The past few weeks she'd been asked to spend a great deal of time in London, where she had no one. She was trying to drop roots in London, but it was not easy for her. Niamh didn't make fast friends very often. And London was almost nothing like home; here her life had become even more strictly divided into two halves. She was having a hard time reconciling the two lately. She was having a hard time trying to decide which heart to follow.

Niamh just wasn't the type of girl who could walk up to a stranger, introduce herself, and suddenly have a new best friend. It took her time to feel comfortable in new places, especially when she was alone. It took her time to warm up enough to be able to talk to a 'stranger.' It took her time to be ready to open up and build trust with someone.

Fred & George were certainly different, sitting on the couch and thinking about her life of late, Niamh found she couldn't deny that fact. In part, she knew this was because the day she first met them, she'd decided it was time for her to grow up. She needed to bite the bullet and just talk to someone, no matter how far outside her comfort zone that took her. She would never feel at home in London if she didn't make an effort, and she knew it. But mostly, Niamh knew it was them. Maybe it was because they reminded her so much of her brother Kian, or perhaps it was just that they were the right people at the right time. Whatever it was, Niamh felt right around them. Things just fit, and it seemed they felt the same about her. Niamh was pretty sure Fred and George were the fastest friends she'd ever made.

She smiled as she thought back to the fascination on Fred's face as he watched her flick a flame to life on her lighter. At home, it was common to see wizards using muggle contraptions for small tasks. There were certain things that became habits, like using a lighter with a cigarette, and not a wand, because you did them equally as often in the muggle world as you did in the wizarding world. Wizards in America knew enough about Muggles to not be shocked by behavior like this. Niamh knew she had a lot to learn about the wizarding world on this side of the ocean. She was kind of excited by that thought. Another thing she was excited to learn about was the mysterious Order that the boys had so smoothly managed to avoid talking about. She had some investigative work to do.

Niamh stared at her cell phone, willing it to ring. She wanted someone to talk to, but wouldn't know who to call if she even had the guts to pick up the phone on her own. Even moving thousands of miles across an ocean—far away from her life and her friends and her family—hadn't made Niamh more comfortable with the idea of making a phone call. If she weren't feeling so emotional, she'd probably laugh at herself, shake it off, and force herself to make a call. But the thought of the way her chest would constrict painfully while she listened to the phone ring was enough to bring tears to her eyes already; she didn't need to be sobbing into the phone to someone so far away they couldn't save her. She'd only end up upsetting them, anyway, instead of making herself feel any better.

It was only 11 pm, and Niamh wasn't tired, but there wasn't much for her to do. Too lazy to get up and cross the room to grab her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, she pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped herself up in it, flipping channels on the television, hoping to find a mindless movie she could watch until she drifted off to sleep. She was tired of thinking too much, and she needed a break from herself—she hoped a movie would do just the trick.


End file.
